Disenchantment
by Dangereuse-Penguin
Summary: What if all the Mary Sue authors were accurate in their stories except for a few details...? Exploited Sues in Mirkwood fight for their rights as human beings.
1. A Shining Example of Exploitation

Hi! I'm Dangereuse-Penguin, and if you're looking for the kissing right off the bat, go away. Pairings are a secret.

Otherwise, please read on. I think this story is different, but if you've read something like this before, I swear to god, I haven't.

Disclaimer: I just bought _The Two Towers_ extended edition, but that doesn't mean I have the rights to it.

XxXxX

_Not that I want to sound ungrateful, but I never asked for this. I didn't want it. So why did I get it? I was happy, or happy enough, at any rate. I had ambitions, and dreams, and things that I will never be able to do here. _

_Not to mention, there's a whole army here of girls like me. _

_Wow. _

_I apologize; I'm giving you the end before I'm giving you the beginning. _

_So let me start from the start. _

_My name is Peyton Thatcher, but most people called me Thatch. They used to call my dad Thatch when he was a high school football star. I'm not into football, but it's a nickname I'm proud to have. _

_I'm tall, about five eight or nine. I am the result of a flag captain/football player marriage, so I am fairly good looking, although I have heard some people say the prettiest couples make the ugliest babies. Exception or normality, that isn't the point; I just happen to look decent most of the time. _

_My hair's brown, so are my eyes. My skin is fairly tan, but I'm entirely northern European, so it's not an ethnic thing, its just melanin. Everybody says, or said, rather, that I look just like my dad's sister. Honestly? I don't see the resemblance, but we do act and think alike. Or did. Whatever. _

"Like, I'm sorry for, like, interrupting you or whatever, but Yoyo told me that you wear size eight jeans, and I was, you know, wondering if I could, um, borrow them?" Ah, Yolanda, alias Yoyo, one of my fellow fall victims. I'll elaborate more on that later, but let's just say, in the Sue Barracks, as I call them, if you want to know something, you ask Yoyo. She _knows._ I have a sneaking suspicion she was the first, but I can't be sure.

"No, you can't have my jeans, because then I'll have no pants, and I'm pretty sure they're not into that whole nudist thing here," I replied flatly to whoever it was Yoyo sent. She made some cutesy-angry little noise and left. I went back to my writing.

_Anyway, one day, when I was fifteen, I went to sleep in my bed, and then when I woke up, I was in the middle of some forest. _

_Yeah, I know. I totally spazzed. I was screaming, and crying, and all that jazz. Then these tall, brown-haired guys led by a really cute blonde guy who looked exactly like Orlando Bloom as Legolas picked me up and deposited me in the Sue Barracks-that's where I am now, five years later. See, the thing is, that guy? He _was_ Legolas. Like, the real one. And all those Mary Sues you hear of on the Internet, where the girl falls into Middle Earth? As it turns out, they all happen, but all at once. There's got to be at least five hundred of us here in the Barracks, all given jobs like scullery maid or field worker or something like that, and when we're paid, our pay goes to the Barrack Warden, who is a guy named Findecáno. Apparently from him, we assume our wages go back to Thranduil (Yeah, this is Mirkwood,) to pay for our food and lodging and other needs. We work these outrageous hours (seriously, like Industrial Revolution hours) and the food is good, and the beds are nice, but I want to know when my debt to Mirkwood will be paid off. The oldest of us are in their twenties, and the youngest are twelve, all girls, and none of us speak Sindarin, or Quenya, or Tengwar, or Westron, or Dwarvish, or any of the languages here. We speak many of the languages from Earth, but none of Middle Earth. Generally, we separate into groups based on native tongues, and those who are bilingual act as mediators between us. But none of us can truly effectively communicate with the elves here. We have learned the necessary words to do our jobs, but past that? Nothing. _

_I don't think that what is happening here is right. I have slaved away in the kitchens here for five years, and still, my debt is unpaid? Something is not right, and I intend to fix it, starting now. I am certain that there are _some_ Sues in Rivendell and Lothlorien, and if I could just _contact _them, and find out about their situations…_

_It can't be as bad as it is here, because it is _bad._ We are not treated as long lost princesses. We are treated as newly found slave labor. The only times I have ever seen Legolas since when he brought me here, to the Barracks, is when he comes to the kitchens to beg food, and even then, if I look at him for too long, I am scolded by the head cook after he leaves. I had thought elves to be compassionate, but apparently that compassion does not extend to humans who are not of this world. _

_As I said, this is not right. It is _dead wrong,_ and it _**will not stand**.

I folded the paper and put it in the small cubbyhole with my name on it next to my cot. That is what we have here, hundreds of cots in long, open buildings. Then, there are two halls where we eat. Findekáno has a small office-type building here too. We are separated from the rest of Elvish society, probably because we are second-class citizens.

"Good night, Hannah," I whispered to the girl in the cot next to mind. She is Hannah Klein, and she works in the fields. I envy her; she gets to be outside all day. The kitchen is stifling and hot, and there is only one window.

I blew out my candle and went to sleep for the night.

Daybreak came far too early, as it usually does here. I changed into my work clothes in the open room, like everybody else. I wore a plain brown skirt and a white shirt with an apron, and tied my hair back, first in a ponytail and then a handkerchief. I went to breakfast. It was lembas, as breakfast tended to be, and water. I didn't care; lembas is _good._ I have no idea what Sam was complaining about in _Return of the King_.

I ate with Gina, who was a German bilingual, as well as a worker in the laundry. I tried to eat with everybody, but bilinguals most of all, because then I could figure out what was going on throughout the entire Barracks, not just the English speakers.

Apparently, some of the German speakers were having some of my same concerns, but didn't want to act on them. Why bite the hand that feeds, clothes, lodges, and exploits them? They were just the minority, however, which is what I found with most of the language groups. The majority did not think anything was wrong. I could understand, I guess, I mean, this was _paradise_ to most of these girls, and they didn't want to believe it was less than that.

That was all I had time to gather before I had to go report for kitchen duty. Us Sues? We don't get days off, and if we're late, we're screwed.

So I went, and Larien, my superior, assigned me to make bread all day. Yuck. And to think, I used to _like _cooking. But all day bread making is like sentencing somebody to death by mind-numbing boredom.

However, it's not like I was about to argue. Argue? With Larien? Yeah, how about I just _volunteer_ myself to be a floor-scrubber?

I got to work. Making bread was pretty much second nature to me now. After five years, I didn't even need to measure. At lunch, I got a half-hour break. I ran back to the Sue Barracks and caught a really quick lunch with Gabriela, a Spanish bilingual. News from the Hispanic front was the same as with the German speakers.

As I was running back to the kitchens, with maybe three minutes to spare, I was held up by the Prince's homecoming from the border patrol-he had been gone for maybe three weeks, and there was practically a parade. We met eyes for a second through the crowd, and I glared at him. He and his father are the cause of this Sue exploitation. He is the enemy, no matter how _gorgeous_ he is.

I slid back into the kitchens maybe ten seconds late, earning myself a patented Larien Glare®. (A/N: I realize that the "R" symbol should actually be a trademark symbol, but I couldn't find it, so use your imagination.) I quickly removed my loaves of bread from the oven as I thought of how I could possibly get to the Lorien or Rivendell Sues. My preoccupation got me a lovely blister-burn, which I tried very hard to ignore. Larien does not take excuses, especially from Sues like myself.

By the time the workday had ended, it was dark and cold as I walked back to the Barracks, but I knew how I could write the other Sues in Middle Earth.

I would need to call in a favor with Yoyo.

And while I was at it, I would have to ask her for some burn cream. My hand hurt like a _bitch._

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Okay, so the first chapter is pretty short, but I want to know if people will actually like this before I go and write this huge thing. It will be huge, by the way. This is _so _the best idea I've ever had. Please review and tell me what you thought!

Mucho love,

D-P


	2. Awful, Nasty Civil Rights Puns

To all those who reviewed- Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it so far!

Disclaimer: I happen to be the proud owner of a pair of gym shorts. Past that? Not much.

XxXxX

"Yoyo," I said solemnly, setting my meal down next to hers at the dinner table. She looked up. She is one of the older ones, twenty-four or five. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Thatch," she replied.

"I'm here to call in a favor." Yoyo raised that eyebrow again. I momentarily wished I could do that. It looked so _cool_.

"Since when did I owe you a favor?" I sighed.

"In my head, you were supposed to just go with it! Why can't you be like the good little Yoyo of my delusions?" I asked, exasperatedly. I sat wearily next to her at the long table and stirred my stew pitifully.

"Well, I don't owe you a damn thing, but I like you, Thatch, and I'll humor you. So let's hear what's on your mind," Yoyo said graciously.

"You know what's on my mind. Fair treatment. Separate housing. Good jobs. Debts being repaid. Financial freedom." That eyebrow _again!_ _Man,_ that's cool.

"I'm not into that whole Sue Crusade of yours," she said, a bit annoyed.

"I know you're not. What I need from you is information on Sues in Rivendell. There's go to be plenty, at least as many as there are here." Yoyo looked thoughtful.

"Well, there is the First," she muttered, after a long pause. I dropped my spoon, which had still been stirring my stew idly.

"The First? In Rivendell?" I asked, shocked. I had always thought Yoyo…but that was irrelevant now.

"Yeah. The First, you know, she got her fairytale life, like she was supposed to. None of the rest of us were here yet to mess things up for her." I nodded, slowly. It made perfect sense. "I've heard she was even engaged to Legolas for a while. You know, the way things were supposed to go for all of us. Apparently, she and Legolas broke up, and she went to Rivendell." Yoyo shrugged. "I'd say she's your best bet, my Civil Rights Soul Sista." I raised an eyebrow now. Yoyo was one of a very few black Sues, but seriously? Civil Rights Soul Sista? Now, I was beginning to suspect she was mocking me, a little.

"Umm…right. Thanks, Yoyo. Do you know her name? I know you were one of the earliest here…" Yoyo laughed at this.

"Yup, that'd be me. One of the old-timers. Her name, back home, was Jane, or Janet, or something of the like." Yoyo laughed. "She took a pretty flowery name here, like in the stories. Alatariel." I wrinkled my nose. Elf name? Ew. Nobody took those here in the Barracks. If they did, we just laughed and called them a newbie.

"Yoyo, I would hug you if I didn't know you'd smack me for it." Yoyo, like me, is not fond of hugs, or physical contact in the fluffy sense in general.

"Sista please," Yoyo admonished.

"Okay, you know what? This whole Civil Rights Soul Sista thing is creeping me out a little," I said, hesitantly. It was.

"Yes, well, I'm a black woman, and it's allowed to show every now and then. Besides, you _are_ fighting for Civil Rights. Our Civil Rights." I rolled my eyes.

"No heartfelt speeches please."

"I'll leave those to you, Martin Luther Queen." I groaned.

"Bad, bad, _bad_ Civil Rights pun. Awful, nasty Civil Rights puns! Ten seconds ago you didn't even _believe _in this!" I shrieked, covering my ears. Yoyo laughed.

"Okay, that one was just to get under your skin." I shuddered.

"Mission accomplished."

"Umm…are you Yoyo?" somebody asked from directly behind me.

"No, I'm Thatch. Yoyo is to my left." I replied, and then whispered, "Newbie," disgustedly under my breath. Honestly, it wasn't very fair of me, because I too was a new here once. I, on the other hand, _never_ mistook Yoyo for _anybody. _"Who's been showing you around?" I asked. And what sort of teacher _were_ they? I turned around to look at the new girl. She was just a pipsqueak! "And how _old_ are you? Twelve?" At this, she huffed.

"I am thirteen."

"Ah, yes, and that's _worlds_ better, isn't it? So who's showing you around, Newbie?" The kid had the audacity to turn her nose up! At me!

"Nobody. I don't _need_ anybody. And my name is Nienna." Oh, _great._ One of _those._

"Honey, there's some things I think you should know," Yoyo started, but I cut her off.

"Yeah. Like, one, yes, you _do_ need somebody, or you'll never make it around here, which is not an option. Two, you are _never_ going to meet Prince Legolas, and you are _certainly _never going to _marry _the guy. Three, nobody here is going to call you Nienna. They'll call you anything _but_ Nienna. The preferred name for newbies who refuse to tell us their real names, insisting on Elvish ones is 'Mildred.' Do you _really_ want that for yourself?" The kid shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. Of which part of my speech, I couldn't be sure.

"Good then. You'll follow me now." I stood and led the newbie away, my burn totally forgotten. "Your real name, if you please."

"Chelsea," it squeaked. Okay, she. Fine. _She_ squeaked.

"Chelsea. See? That wasn't so hard. Where is your bed?" Chelsea seemed to think hard.

"Come on, Newbie, it isn't that difficult…"

"Ummm…over this way, I think," She said, after a long pause.

"The cubby next to it will have your name on it."

"I sort of crossed it out and wrote 'Nienna' on the little paper." I rolled my eyes.

"We can fix that. I'll get the girl who's bed is next to yours to show you around." Chelsea paled a bit.

"You mean…you won't show me around?" she asked, sounding surprised and uncertain. I laughed.

"Seriously, I'm way too busy. I'd never have time for you, and you'd probably end up worse off than when you started. Who're you next to?" I peered at the name card of the bed to the left.

"Geraldine. Cool. Ger's pretty awesome. You'll get along."

"Umm…Thatch?" she asked.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"What am I going to do here?" I sighed. I hate to be the one who tells the kid there's no such thing as Santa Claus.

"Well, you'll be assigned a job. In the morning, we wake up early, and we have to be ready before the sun rises, because that is when work starts, at dawn. Breakfast is in the dining hall, as are lunch and dinner. There's no days off, no paid vacation. When you get paid, it goes straight to Findekáno, and from him to Thranduil. You won't be able to understand what people are saying to you at first, but the other girls at your job will help you out until you can pick up some Sindarin, enough to get by." Chelsea's eyes were wide.

"So…that's it? Work, everyday, all day? Forever?" I sighed, very deeply.

"I'm not sure," I said, regretfully. "I've been doing this for five years, the oldest of us have been doing this for maybe eight. I have no idea what happens in the long run. Ten years from now? When we get old? Who knows?" I shrugged, frustrated. "This is what I've been fighting for. Certainty; certainty and fairness." I stood now, Chelsea almost forgotten. "I'm going to make this right, somehow. You wait here, and when Ger gets here, tell her I said to watch out for you." I stalked off. Just the thought of Chelsea wasting her life away, like I was doing, was enough to bring every bit of my rage to the surface.

It wasn't _fair!_ Chelsea was a bright girl with a future ahead of her! We _all_ were! And now? Maybe, if I was lucky, one day I'd move up to being a _serving girl._

I looked back for a moment, and saw Chelsea sitting on her bed, wide eyed, looking around.

We're all just a bunch of scared little girls. How can they treat us this way?

They won't. Not anymore. Tomorrow, I will act. Thranduil had better watch out, because his slave labor system won't be in place much longer.

XxXxX

Sorry it's short, but this seemed like a good place to stop. Yeah, so tomorrow Thatch is going to kick some elf ass. Sounds like a party!

Review please! Self-esteem is a frail thing, and without reviews to feed it, it may just up and die on me, and then what?


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